


Experience

by maschh



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Real Madrid CF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-28 18:10:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6339958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maschh/pseuds/maschh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High school!AU. At a certain school in Portugal, Cristiano Ronaldo is everyone's favorite. Marcelo is his best friend. Ricardo Kaka is the Jesus freak with surprising talent on the football pitch. Cris decides he could teach the new kid a few things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Experience

Marcelo will never understand it.  
  
It isn't that his best friend gets everything and everyone he wants. No, that he's used to. When you've been best friends with Cristiano Ronaldo as long as Marcelo has, you learn pretty quickly what to expect. Ronaldo has the entire school at his feet – he's got teachers sucking up to him, girls following him around wherever he goes, the football team's captaincy, friends that have his back no matter what.  
  
While Marcelo is lucky if he gets the numbers of Cris's more vengeful exes every month or so, he can only watch as his friend plows his way through life, succeeding in one area and then another. He laughs and preens and jokes and gets away with everything. Marcelo would hate him if he wasn't so irresistible.  
  
So for all the brilliance of his best friend (which follows him around like an aura), he still can't understand Cris's obsession with the new kid, the pale, nervous-looking twerp named “Ricardo—or, or, my friends in Brazil called me Kaka.”  
  
He told the class that the first day, standing at the front of the room next to Mr. Mourinho like some awkward Show-and-Tell. Marcelo dismissed him immediately, continued his hushed conversation with Pepe. But when he tried to catch Cris's eye, maybe to commiserate about the poor doomed new kid, maybe to make a face, he couldn't help but notice Cris's eyes raking the boy up and down, up and down. He hadn't seen Cris look at anyone like that in months. Maybe ever. If anyone could distinguish those glances, it was Marcelo. He and Cris had been on the prowl together since they could prowl. And now his friend looked like he was about to go in for the kill.  
  
Someone swatted Cris on the elbow. He dragged his eyes away. “What?”  
  
“You hear that? He plays football,” Robinho said. “Attacking mid.”  
  
“Competition,” Carvalho taunted. It was a sign of Cris's inattention that he didn't retort.  
  
“Probably,” Marcelo said, louder than necessary, just to get his attention. “He looks good.” The banter continued and the lads momentarily forgot them, but Marcelo's comment made Cris finally tilt his head toward him in question. Marcelo gave him a knowing look and Cris looked away immediately, a barely-there blush growing on his cheeks. They both realized they knew each other almost a little too well.  
  
“Let's find out,” Pepe was saying. “Hey!” he called when the Ricardo presentation had finished. “Over here.” He gestured at the always-empty seat in their group. Ricardo looked up, smiled in recognition, and obeyed as the entire class watched in amazement. Cris's was an exclusive club.  
  
“Kaka, right?” Cris asked. Ricardo nodded eagerly. “Okay, Kaka. These are the guys. Pepe, Raul, Robinho, Carvalho – he's Ricardo too, so don't get confused – ” a few of the guys laughed at this, including Kaka “ – Marcelo, and I'm Cris.” He let the silence linger for a moment, then added, “You said you play football?”  
  
“Yes, I am an attacking midfielder. But I don't really like to attack things, just—just on the football pitch,” he said, stumbling over his words. “It's not Christian, you know,” he added in a smaller voice. Pepe's frown deepened (who was this kid?), but Cris's face lit up.  
  
Marcelo almost choked on his spit. He believed in God and everything, but Cris. Cris was an absolute sucker for Jesus freaks. Ever since his mom had nearly gotten herself killed in a gas leak accident and discovered the Lord was everything she'd been missing, he not only tolerated but appreciated religion in a way that none of the rest of them did. He had the utmost respect for it. And lo and behold, Cris's eyes widened and Marcelo swore to himself.  
  
“No, it's not,” Carvalho nodded, using a mocking tone that everyone but Kaka caught. Cris glared daggers at him and Carvalho shrank a little.  
  
“We're on the football team here,” Pepe explained, in an attempt to diffuse the tension.  
  
“Oh, really? I would love to play with you guys!” Everything he said came off as cheerful.  
  
“Good,” Cris said. “Tryouts for varsity are this Friday.”  
  
“We'll see if you can give _o capitão_ a run for his money,” Raul chuckled, pointing a thumb at Cris.  
  
Kaka stuttered.  
  
~~~  
  
Kaka was better than even Marcelo could have predicted. He scored on him, he scored on Carvalho, he scored on Gomes until he threw his gloves on the ground and Raul had to calm him down. On the pitch, he was an entirely different person: calm, collected, enjoying himself without smiling. Cris was surprised that anyone else could peel their gaze away from him. He was clearly born to be there.  
  
He made the hopefuls look like wannabes, and Cris was sure he heard more than a few discontent grumbles among them. At the end, when all but the first team had cleared out, Cris took him on himself – the two of them, one-on-one with Gomes in the goal. He watched Kaka's face, watched his hips, but he couldn't get the ball off him, and in the end, he was beaten with one fake that was quicker than all the rest. Cris could only turn his head and watch the ball fly past Gomes's fingertips.  
  
Their jaws dropped on the sidelines.  
  
“What are they feeding them in Brazil?” Carvalho said incredulously.  
  
“Did you see that?” Robinho was recounting what had happened to anyone who would listen.  
  
“Unbelievable,” Pepe muttered.  
  
Marcelo paid no attention to them. He was too busy awaiting Cris's reaction. Cris had never liked to lose, no matter the circumstances, and the truth was this kid could even be better than he was. Of course Kaka's talent was good for the team, but Cris in second place never boded well for anyone who had to be around him.  
  
But Cris was smiling and patting Kaka on the back and everything seemed to be off-balance today. Marcelo shook his head as if to clear it. The pair of them approached them then, Cris's arm around a laughing Kaka. “I like this one,” he told them, grinning ear-to-ear. “He'll do.”  
  
“ _Viva Portugal_!” Kaka cheered as the two of them led the way back to the dressing rooms.  
  
~~~  
  
Over the next several weeks, to say that Cris takes Kaka under his wing would be an understatement. They spend all their time at practice together, trading tactics and showing off their skills. Del Bosque decides to play them together as attacking midfielder/second striker, a prospect that excites both of them to no end. They talk about plays they'll make and practice coordinating passes with each other. They leave everyone else behind with their sheer ability.  
  
But at school, the atmosphere is different. Kaka sits with their group at lunch and during class whenever possible, but he's always on the edge of the conversation, not excluded but without much to say. Cris often turns to him as if searching for an opinion, but Kaka rarely offers and besides, Pepe can talk enough for all of them. Marcelo often notices how often they move in sync: turning, laughing, fidgeting at the same time. Neither realizes. He doesn't want to point it out.  
  
He starts to hang out with Robinho more and Cris less. Raul and Pepe come around sometimes too, and Carvalho if they let him. But Cris is busy more and more often, with “homework” and “tutoring,” which of course means “extra practice” and “Kaka.” The weirdest thing is, Marcelo feels like this should bother him more than it does. The kid is no doubt weird, whatever Cris thinks about him. A neurotic Jesus freak who also happens to be incredible at football. But they seem perfectly matched in the oddest of ways.  
  
For one thing, Kaka is averse to anything that Jesus wouldn't do. Especially sex, which they all know is Cris's favorite pastime. The first time they talked about girls in front of him, Kaka's eyes widened and his hands instinctively flew to his ears in self-preservation. The guys cracked up immediately; even Cris tittered.  
  
“What? We're offending your virgin ears?” Robinho taunted.  
  
Kaka removed his hands indignantly. “Jesus would not approve of these... conversations.”  
  
They fell into hysterics. Tears rolled down Robinho's cheeks. After the laughs had finally faded away and Kaka's frown was deeper than ever, Robinho said, “You're serious?”  
  
“I mean, I love Jesus too, my friend, but – ” Pepe began.  
  
“Going down on Irina Shayk is definitely something holy!” Robinho interrupted.  
  
“Praise the Lord!” Raul laughed.  
  
“Going down?” It sounded foreign off of Kaka's tongue. The guys looked at each other incredulously. Carvalho explained it, careful to go into great detail. Kaka looked repulsed and the boys only laughed harder.  
  
“And—and she liked this?”  
  
“Oh yeah,” Marcelo grinned like a sinner. “It's like...imagine someone's mouth around your dick.” Kaka makes a face and they can't help but laugh.  
  
Cris had been noticeably quiet throughout and Kaka finally turned his gaze toward him. “You do these things too?” he asked. Cris nodded, unsmiling, and the guys were all wolf-whistles and snarky comments. “You have had girlfriends?” Everyone laughed.  
  
“More than Jesus himself,” Carvalho cracked. Kaka frowned.  
  
“Irina, Carina, Olalla... who was the one last week?” Robinho asked.  
  
“Bouchra,” Cris supplied.  
  
“Yeah, she's a babe.” The lads made noises of agreement.  
  
“And they like these things too?”  
  
“Yeah,” Cris said simply. “They do.”  
  
It was silent for a while, and then Kaka spoke up again. “What else is there... besides 'going down'?”  
  
“Heeey!” Carvalho cheered.  
  
“Kaka! Coming into his own!”  
  
“'S got his big boy pants on!” someone jeered. Kaka smiled, his cheeks a flattering shade of red.  
  
“Well, I'll tell you what I did to Bouchra...” he began and the boys gathered around.  
  
~~~  
  
They take a trip to Salamanca a few months into the school year. It's not a big deal for most of them, not after London and Paris and all the places rich schools visit (just a train ride away), but Kaka had never been outside of Brazil before he came to Lisbon and he's beside himself.  
  
The train ride is long and Cris and Kaka, paired together in the back, fall in and out of sleep for the first three hours or so. At some point, after they've eaten and the louder ones in their party (Robinho and Raul) have fallen asleep, Cris speaks up.  
  
“Guess who I hooked up with on Saturday.” It's a bit brave on his part, because he's not sure if Kaka is really okay with all of this talk yet.  
  
Kaka raises his eyebrows. Cris wonders if he's overstepped some invisible line, but quickly remembers that he's Cristiano Ronaldo and he never shies away from things like that. “Guess.”  
  
Kaka shrugs, but his nonchalant attitude seems more like someone acting in a play than someone genuinely not caring. “Uhh... I don't know. Clarisse?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Sara?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Caroline!”  
  
Cris sighs. “Nagore.”  
  
“Nagore?” Kaka's excited now. “From our Spanish class?” Cris nods triumphantly. “She's lovely,” he adds in a more hushed tone, and Cris doesn't know why that hurts. He's sure he doesn't care about her that much.  
  
“Yeah, she is,” he agrees with a surge of pride. “She's kind of a tease, though. We almost fucked...”  
  
Kaka leans in, enraptured.  
  
The train ride all of a sudden goes by a lot quicker.  
  
~~~  
  
“This is ridiculous!” Robinho is saying as they pass what seems like the millionth church.  
  
“I know. I wanted booze and girls, not never-ending... architecture,” spits Carvalho.  
  
“You have girls,” croons Anna-Maria, part of the gang of girls nearby them, but she's looking at Cristiano.  
  
“Not you,” Carvalho says, and the lads crack up as all of them gasp and flutter off to another part of the tour group.  
  
“Dammit, Carvalho,” Marcelo whines as they watch them walk away. “I was hoping to talk to a few of them this weekend.”  
  
“Talk,” Raul says pointedly. “Right.” Pepe and Robinho snicker.  
  
Cris rolls his eyes, not in the mood for all this. He hangs back a little, lets the guys fill up his space. Kaka's dawdling a little bit anyway.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
“Hey,” Kaka replies. “I love it here.”  
  
“Yeah?” Cris looks around as if seeing it first the time. “Yeah, it's nice.” He adds, “lots of pretty buildings,” for lack of anything better to say. He doesn't like feeling this uncomfortable. He's not used to it.  
  
Kaka shakes his head but doesn't say anything, just lets his eyes wander. Cris wonders what he's thinking (again something new).  
  
“You wanna go somewhere?” Cris asks all of a sudden.  
  
“Hmm?” Kaka asks, surprised. “We're – we're with the group.”  
  
“Nah,” Cris shrugs the idea off. “Watch. Hey, Mr. Mou!” he calls toward the front of the group. “Is it all right if we just take a closer look at those columns over there? Ricky's really interested!”  
  
Mourinho looks torn. The entire class is staring back at them. “If you have to, Cris. Be quick.” Cris gives him a solemn nod and the class turns around, losing interest. Cris looks back at Kaka, giving him a wicked grin. A rush flows through Kaka's system, but he can't tell if it's good or bad yet. He can tell he probably looks impressed. Because he is.  
  
Cris elbows him. “C'mon. Let's go look at the buildings.”  
  
“Columns.”  
  
“Whatever,” Cris laughs easily as they walk farther away from the tour group. “These buildings really are pretty.”  
  
Kaka makes a noise. He's bending over, reading the inscription on the base of one of the columns. The square is completely empty and the sun is setting. Cris wanders through the columns happily. “You'll never guess what I did to Casillas.”  
  
Kaka stands up straight. He's not sure he heard right. He glances at Cris, who is now leaning against the wall of the building, foot against the wall, looking into the distance. He could be a model. Kaka walks closer.  
  
“Casillas?”  
  
“Yeah,” Cris meets his eyes, that wicked smile gracing his features again. Kaka leans against the wall next to him.  
  
“You didn't beat him up or anything?” Kaka asks.  
  
Cris laughs, full-on, his head back against the wall and his Adam's apple bobbing. Kaka stares. He chuckles too, a little confused. Finally, the taller man sighs in pleasure and detaches himself from the wall. “No, I didn't beat him up.”  
  
“So... what did you do?” Kaka repeats. Cris just looks at him, puts his arms on either side of him, crowding him out, taking up his space. He's too nervous to speak.  
  
“What do you think?” Cris asks, more than a dangerous edge to his voice now. “What do you think, Ricky?”  
  
“D-dunno,” Kaka manages to choke out, before Cris attacks his lips. It's fast and feverish, too much and not enough. Before Kaka even realizes what's happening, he's kissing back, enjoying the feeling of Cris hot and hard against him. Cris's arms snake around his waist, holding him still – he couldn't move if he wanted to. He doesn't want to.  
  
“Fuck,” Cris murmurs as he sinks down to Kaka's neck, sucking and licking and biting. Maybe it's that word that does it, sin wrapped up in more sin, but he pulls back and the tension makes Cris loosen his grip just a bit. “What?” says the younger man breathlessly.  
  
Kaka doesn't know what to tell him. “I don't think I can do this,” he says weakly, but more coherent than before. “I don't think I should do this.”  
  
Cris pauses. He'd expected this, if he's honest. He leans in closer to Kaka, their chests pressed together, and presses a hand to his shorts. He palms Kaka's erection as he whispers. “I think you do. I think you wanted this ever since you laid eyes on me.” This is a guess, but he is rewarded by a little whimper and he continues, stroking harder, “Casillas resisted too. But there's no point. Give yourself over.” He sucks on Kaka's earlobe and the Brazilian moans.  
  
“I'll get on my knees for you right now. Is that what you want? Here and now. I'll take your fat cock in my mouth and let you come all over me.” Kaka can't even answer, just lets Cris pull his shorts down and finally it's out, the glorious thing, and Cris takes it with a gentleness Kaka didn't know he had. He smears pre-cum all over the head and Kaka leans back against the wall, its coldness contrasting how he was feeling.  
  
Cris licks around the head first, just testing. Kaka absolutely writhes, and Cris knows he can't tease for long with this one. Either he'll come too soon or he'll call it off completely. So he swallows him down and Kaka grips his hair. Cris makes a noise of surprise and Kaka moans, “ _Please please please_.” Cris takes it slow, has to make this last. Kaka thrusts aimlessly, hips rolling and Cris holds him in place. He deep throats him and the Brazilian feels his knees weaken. He won't last long.  
  
Cris cradles his balls between his fingers, savoring the feeling. “Please,” Kaka begs, and then it's all over – he comes, long and hard, most of it on and around Cris's mouth. Cris laps it up, always the showman, but Kaka is too spent to watch. He falls limp against the wall, and Cris does him the favor of pulling up his shorts.  
  
He's still painfully hard in his jeans. He leans back against the wall next to his friend and finishes himself off, only giving off a little noise when he finally comes. He sighs in satisfaction. His briefs have been through worse. He takes Kaka and puts his head against his shoulder, supporting him.  
  
“Now you know,” he says.  
  
“You did that to Casillas?” Kaka says, lifting his head up. His throat is hoarse.  
  
Cris shrugs. “Nah,” he laughs. “But there's more where that came from.”  
  
Kaka laughs too, but a little later and it's clear he's still in a daze. “I'll see if I can keep up.”


	2. Expectations

On Saturday, they sneak out. The teachers have taped the doors of their hotel rooms in the hopes that it'll keep them in their rooms, but they sneak out anyway.  
  
“Seriously, we've known this trick as long as I can remember,” Raul is saying as he detaches the tape from the inside, careful not to rip it.  
  
“Handed down for generations,” Marcelo agrees solemnly. As Raul opens the door, they pop their heads round nervously, but the corridor is completely empty. They close the door as quietly as they can (making sure to replace the tape) and walk the few paces down to the other boys' rooms, shushing each other and suppressing unmanly giggles every so often.  
  
Marcelo and Raul each take a door, tap on it with just a few fingers. Robinho opens his and Pepe's door immediately, as if he'd been pressed up against it, waiting.  
  
“Took you long enough!” he says, too loudly. “We've been stuck here with _Carvalho_ the whole time!”  
  
“Hey!”  
  
Raul grins and pushes past him inside. On the other side of the hall, Cris is just opening his and Kaka's door. “Ready?” Marcelo asks.  
  
“Of course.” Cris almost looks offended. “Ricky's not feeling up to it, though.”  
  
“What?” Marcelo strides inside. “You're joking. Ricky – Kaka, what's the matter?”  
  
Kaka's sitting on the bed with a book and his reading glasses on. “Nothing's the matter,” he says finally. “I just don't feel right about this.” _I've done enough this trip._ “We're breaking the rules. I haven't even been here long enough to break the rules.”  
  
“Nah, you can never start too early,” Marcelo laughs. “C'mon, it'll be fun. We'll just see Salamanca. You've never been, have you?”  
  
“No. I mean. Except for today.”  
  
“Pfft. Buildings. Columns.” Kaka swallows hard. “We'll show you the real Salamanca.” he says, doing the full salesman bit. “Don't worry, we won't get caught,” he insists. “And even if we did, we're with  _him_.” He gestures at Cris. “Mourinho kisses his ass like no other. Lets him get away with everything.”  
  
He can't read Kaka's face. He finally takes his glasses off. Marcelo turns it up.  
  
“And you? What is he gonna do to you? Star of the football team? Bench you? Can't afford it. Load you down with homework? It'll interfere with practice. C'mon!” Kaka looks doubtful. “The guys are waiting.”  
  
Kaka looks at Cris, searching for the decision to be made. Cris nods almost imperceptibly. Finally he looks back at Marcelo and puts down his book. “All right,” he sighs. And then to himself, “Salamanca.”  
  
“That's my boy!” Marcelo bounds up, extending a hand to help him up. Kaka takes it and they saunter toward the hallway to meet the others. Cris follows, his hands in his pockets and a smirk on his face.  
  
  
  
Raul knows all the clubs in Salamanca. Carvalho pretends he does. It ends up getting them a bit more lost than they would have been otherwise, but it works out. The club they find is big enough and loud enough and anonymous enough to suit all of their needs.  
  
“All I want in life is to dance with a Spanish girl,” Marcelo whimpers and disappears into the pulsing crowd on the dance floor.  
  
Kaka follows the group of them, hands sweating at his sides, towards another part of the club, where people are a little more packed and the bass is a little louder. He can't dance, he knows this, but it doesn't matter because before long he's swept up into the rush of people and his movements are decided for him. He looks around and sees Cris a few feet away, a bit taller than he is. Carvalho's somewhere on his right and he thinks that's Raul behind him.  
  
If they're his anchors, giving him some sense of orientation, they're really shitty ones because the next second, he looks around again and they're gone. Every single one of them. A part of him thinks, “oh no, they've ditched me,” but then he sees a flash of gold and it's Pepe, grinding already. So he's all right for now.  
  
He's not sure how long he stays there, captivated by the lights and sounds and feelings. But he's sweatier than he realizes and when he finally breaks free, the bar is a welcome relief. Of course he won't drink anything, but it's nice to have a seat.  
  
“Hey!” Someone flings an arm around his shoulders, and he looks up to see Cris, flanked by two adoring-looking girls. His other arm is around the brunette's waist, and the blonde on his other side is smiling at Kaka.  
  
“Cris!” Kaka says.  
  
“How you holding up?”  
  
“Good.”  
  
“This is... Lucia,” he gestures to the girl who is practically on top of his hip, the prettier of the two. “And Ana.” They smile and wave at him, though they're only a few feet away. “Here, we're gonna go dance,” he says abruptly, “and I'll leave her with you.” He and Lucia glide away before Kaka can even say anything, and Ana is sitting next to him.  
  
“Hi,” Kaka says shyly.  
  
“Hi,” Ana grins. He guesses she's pretty (though she's no Nagore). Her hair is dark blonde and curly, a bit frizzed up, from dancing, probably. But her eyes are understanding and brown and a bit like someone's he knows and he gets sucked in and doesn't notice her lips moving.  
  
“Hmm? I'm sorry.”  
  
“I said,” she chuckles a little, “'were you going to get us drinks?”  
  
“Uh, sure." He turns to the bartender. “She'd like..."  
  
“Sangrias,” she provides.  
  
When they're presented with the drinks, she swirls hers around like it's wine but slogs it down like it's water. He stares at her for a while and finally she fills the silence. “Aren't you gonna have some?”  
  
He shrugs. “I don't drink. Sorry.” Her eyes widen.  
  
She cocks her head and lowers her voice. He has to lean in. “Oh, good boy, huh?”  
  
“I—”  
  
“We'll see what we can do about that.” She closes the distance between them until their lips meet and immediately he can tell it feels wrong. She tastes like empty calories and the way alcohol smells. Her perfume is dizzying. Didn't Cris taste like he smelled? Not cologne, better than cologne. He doesn't move much, barely supports her weight, but she's drunk enough not to notice. She moans into his mouth and he starts.  
  
“What?” she says, backing up.  
  
“N-nothing, it's just,” he tries, a bit out of breath. “I saw my friend and—”  
  
“Your friend?” She looks confused, and then as if she's decided on something. “Oh. Your _friend_. You know? Maybe I better go.” She gives him one last look and saunters away, leaving her drink.  
  
Kaka puts his head in his hands, wonders if something's wrong with him.  
  
Marcelo cruises up then, just because he's never to be left alone. Surprisingly (for all the grinding he's been doing), there is no girl on his arm. But there's no lack of cheer. “Hey hey,” he says, sitting down. “You looked good on the floor, ah? I didn't know you could dance, Ricky.” He laughs inexplicably. “This yours?” he asks, gesturing to the drink Ana left. Kaka nods, but it's already halfway down his throat. “Mmm.” He holds the drink up in approval. “Seriously though, were you talking to that girl who just left? Cause she was...” He makes a noise somewhere between a growl and a bark. Kaka wonders how much he's had to drink.  
  
“Yeah, sure, I was,” Kaka says. His head is spinning and his throat is dry. “Hey, do you know where the bathrooms are?”  
  
“Somewhere over there, I think,” Marcelo says, pointing vaguely to the opposite corner of the club. Kaka leaves him, mumbling a brief thanks while he continues to go on about something.  
  
He doesn't really have to go to the bathroom, but it's a good excuse. He really just wants to sit against the cold wall and let his head clear up a bit. Would that look too weird? He may be too desperate to care. At any rate, the bathroom hallway is long and narrow and there are couples doing worse than grinding on either side. It should be a warning but it's not.  
  
He knocks on the door of the men's, not sure if it's a single bathroom or stalls. He gets no response (didn't expect one) and pushes the door open just a bit.  
  
It's enough. They stick out like a sore thumb, pressed against the stall wall like that, and besides, even if he hadn't been able to see them, he'd have _heard_ them: her moans, almost theatrical in their pitch, and Cris's grunts as he works his hand between her legs.  
  
Have his eyes been burning the whole time? He's not sure how long he stands there but it must be too long because all of a sudden Cris is looking at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. And it occurs to Kaka that he's not telling him to fuck off like Raul or Pepe or any of them would do, but he's not happy to see him either. He just stares and that makes Kaka almost more uncomfortable than anything else.  
  
“What?” Lucia says breathlessly, her back to him.  
  
Kaka closes the door as quickly as he can. It's almost instinctive that he runs away, sprints down the hallway and back toward the dance floor. He's moving so fast he actually bumps straight into Carvalho.  
  
“ _Shit!_ ” Carvalho yells unnecessarily, as he only moved a few inches or so. “Oh. Hey,” he says, his tone changing as he recognizes the idiot who crashed into him.  
  
“Hey, do you think you could take me back to the hotel?”  
  
“Uh...” Carvalho looks around, scratches his head. “I guess so. Where are the other guys?”  
  
“Dunno.” He glances behind them. “C'mon,” he says decisively, taking Carvalho by the elbow and leading him to the exit before he can change his mind.  
  
  
  
The ride back to Portugal is longer than the way there (but that's always true). Kaka sits with Marcelo, trying not to let him relay all he got up to the night before, and Cris sits with this kid Nani, who's hyperactive and loud but kind of fun.  
  
Cris stows Kaka's suitcase above his head for him when they board, without looking at him, without asking. Kaka makes a beeline for Marcelo in response and Raul gives Cris a questioning look. He's always been too perceptive.  
  
  
  
Before long, though, Kaka is so obvious in avoiding Cris that none of them can miss it. He doesn't talk to Cris anymore, and the answers he has to occasionally give him are noncommittal and brief. They don't connect on the field anymore, much to Mourinho's chagrin. Kaka's passes are too long, Cris's too short. Their sudden lack of chemistry throws everyone else off.  
  
“Hey! Just hit the back of the net next time, yeah?” Marcelo says to Kaka, not unkindly. He's sweating buckets.  
  
“I'm sorry. I just—”  
  
“It's fine.” Marcelo is already waving him off, jogging back to his position.  
  
“Once more!” Mourinho yells, his voice hoarse already.  
  
Kaka sighs. He's never known anything to affect his game like this. He makes a run and Raul feeds him the ball. He fakes around Pepe and heads toward the goal. Cris is wide open on his right, he can see him out of the corner of his eye. He's got countless players on him – he knows he should pass – but he fakes around one of them and suddenly launches the ball toward Cris.  
  
Cris doesn't expect it, could barely even see it coming through all those defenders. He makes a shot but it comes off his foot wrong and Gomes catches it on the ground. Kaka shakes his head like a dog, frustrated, and starts to run back.  
  
Mourinho is shouting at him but he can barely make it out. “Ricardo! Cristiano! After practice, stick around!”  
  
If Kaka were the type of person to swear, now would probably be one of those times.  
  
  
  
“So what's going on? Just tell me. Has something happened?” Mourinho is saying. He's doing that thing where he tries to connect with students, something he's always done to these two especially. They're his favorites. He can't help it.  
  
Neither of them answer, just continue staring at the ground. Cris has his hands behind his back and is biting his lip. Kaka looks up at Mourinho for a second, a tinge of fear on his face.  
  
“You are friends, no? Good friends,” Mourinho presses. At that, Kaka's eyes meet the ground again. “You're always together.” Cristiano nods, slightly, but it's enough to keep Mou going. “All right, well. I'm gonna be honest. You're the best players I've got. I think you both know that. Work on your chemistry. You'll stay here for an hour today and every other day of the week until I'm convinced you've got it back. I'll be in my office; I'll tell you when you can go.”  
  
Cris finally looks up, a look of pain on his face. “Mr. Mou—” he starts to say.  
  
Mourinho holds up a finger. “No no no,” he says with a bit of an evil grin, “You can't talk your way out of this one, Ronaldo. You're staying.” He starts to walk away, then throws over his shoulder, “Besides, you always used to stay by choice, don't give me that.”  
  
Kaka glares. Cris just scoffs, looks in the other direction.  
  
“All right, come on, Ricky. Let's work on our passing, yeah?” Cris sighs, retrieving a ball from the crate. He kicks it up, controls it on his chest, and then bounces it between his knees and his feet for a while. For too long. Kaka sticks out a hand and taps it, not enough. It veers off course for a second and then Cris has it back in his control. He laughs and smirks at Kaka, who taps it harder and it goes flying.  
  
Cris is refusing to get annoyed with him though, because he chases after the ball, and with a half-glance backwards, runs toward the goal. Kaka realizes what he's doing and sprints, flat-out sprints, after him to stop him. But Cris is fast and eventually Kaka has to go in for the kill. He slide tackles him to the ground (at least a yellow card offense to any ref), and before long the two have fallen to the ground, a mix of giggles and sweat and nerves and tension.  
  
They lay back on the cool grass, their hands brushing against each other almost accidentally. Kaka sighs. He's nearly forgotten to be angry. Cris sits up on his elbow and looks at Kaka, just looks.  
  
“What?” Kaka squeaks, suddenly nervous.  
  
“Why've you been avoiding me?” Cris says plainly.  
  
“What—I haven't been... avoiding you.” Kaka's always been a terrible liar.  
  
“You're a terrible liar,” Cris informs him. “And you're blushing. Why are you blushing?”  
  
“I'm not,” Kaka insists, getting redder.  
  
Cris looks away, runs his fingers through his hair. He's uncomfortable, Kaka thinks, which doesn't happen often. If it ever has. “Look, if this is because of that girl—”  
  
“Lucia.”  
  
“Lucia,” Cris says agreeably, looking at him now, “If it's 'cause of her... I don't know what to tell you. I like to hook up.” He shrugs, offering a crooked grin and Kaka knows that shouldn't look so endearing.  
  
“It's not because of—” he gets out.  
  
“I don't know what you want from me. I mean, I went to the club to hook up. If I had wanted to hook up with you, I would've stayed at the hotel.” _Ouch._ He doesn't mean for it to come out like that, but it does. Kaka looks away and for an odd second Cris fears he might cry. The power he's always had over people is starting to feel like a weapon he doesn't want to possess. “Shit, Kaka, I didn't mean—”  
  
“It's fine. You meant what you said,” Kaka says, getting to his feet jerkily. “I get it, Cris. Whomever you want, whenever you want. Just depends on the minute.” He stalks off toward the showers without looking back.  
  
Cris buries his head in the grass.

  
  
The next day, they don't talk at all, and flat out refuse to pass to one another. At one point, Carvalho yells, “Hey! Cris was wide open!” after Kaka's lost the ball, but the two of them remain stony-faced and the guys learn not to say anything. If Mou can shut up, so can they.  
  
Eventually they all trickle out, with a few pats on the back and “good job today”s, and Cris and Kaka say goodbye dutifully, the two brats stuck in detention. Mourinho gives them a look that says “you know what to do” and trots back to his office. Cris is still refusing to meet Kaka's eyes.  
  
Kaka kicks him the ball, harder than he should, and it lands at his feet. Finally Cris glances up at him, a question in his eyes. Kaka tilts his head, challenging. Cris grits his teeth and takes off.  
  
Later on, Kaka finishes showering first. He's rooting around in his locker when he hears the water shut off. He tries not to give it a second thought. They still haven't said a word to each other since the day before. He reaches up to get his keys when he hears someone clearing their throat behind him.  
  
He turns around slowly, ready to be angry, furious, livid. Halfway to punching him. He flinches involuntarily as he realizes Cris is only wearing a towel around his waist. And he's much too close.  _Jesus, and he smells so good._ “What?” Kaka says, hating himself for being the one to break the silence.  
  
“Ricky...” He says it slowly, lets the word linger on his tongue. “Ricky, what do you want from me?”  
  
“Nothing. Nothing anymore,” Kaka huffs, starts to turn around again  
  
Cris grabs his shoulder in an iron grip. His hands are still wet. So is his chest. “Kaka. I'm asking you. What do you want?”  
  
Kaka looks down, suddenly afraid of those penetrating eyes. “I—” he starts to say, and Cris perks up immediately, leaning in to listen.  
  
“What?”  
  
Kaka bites his lip, shakes his head. The words won't come out. He turns around again, as if he can even think right now, as if he can even process these stupid _trinkets_ in his locker when all of this is going on and his head's gonna implode and—  
  
“How are you doing this?” Kaka whirls around again.  
  
“What?” Cris steps back incredulously.  
  
“You were such a – you were so – ” he's spluttering, incoherent – “and now you're – in your towel – expecting me to – ”  
  
“I don't expect you to do anything,” Cris says solemnly. “I don't.” He's so earnest, Kaka can't stand it.  
  
Kaka exhales. “I just want... you.” Cris waits. “I _want_ you. And I don't want you to want anyone else. And—”  
  
“And?”  
  
He puts his head in hands. “It scares the shit out of me,” he admits, so softly Cris can barely hear it. He turns around, faces his locker in shame. He fumbles with a few things just to keep his hands busy, to stop himself from hyperventilating. He hears Cris's footsteps pad away from his locker and he closes his eyes because really, this? This of all things would make him cry?  
  
He hears Cris open his locker, go through his things, and his keys dig into the palm of his hand as he tries to remember everything he needs to go. He turns around, finished, at the exact same time that Cris does. They make eye contact, slightly awkwardly, and Cris gives him a smile. “Come here,” he says, and Kaka's half convinced he just imagined it. But he does anyway, with slow steps and without breaking eye contact.  
  
Cris envelopes him in a hug that's as comforting as it is warm. He presses a kiss to the side of Kaka's head and smiles a little when the Brazilian tenses up. “Hey,” he says lowly, “this doesn't have to be scary.”  
  
Kaka closes his eyes and decides to believe him.


End file.
